Charles Baker Harris
by KoalaBurr
Summary: Dill and Scout share a moment together under the stars. PG for language.


**Charles Baker Harris**

_By Koalaburr_

**Author's Note: **Ok kiddio's, I wrote this on a whim, and this is a one-shot. (The word 'one-shot' here needs highlighting, underlining, bold, italic and red flashing font. ONE!-shot. Singular. Only once. Not more than one chapter…Sigh. Something tells me I'll eat those words.) And for lack of better name, I called it what Microsoft Word did.

I'm assuming back in the 1930's they must've had some kind of town function, a dance, or a dinner, or some kind of formal town-wide gathering. I really didn't find much on that topic in my 'extensive' research, so you'll just have to use your imagination. Also note that these are not the ten year olds we meet in the book, and I've set this around age 16 for Scout, so 17 for Dill. I'm also not good at brutally murdering the English language, so do forgive the incorrect accents.

Heh, and yes, you'll need to use your imagination again on the subject of Dill. He really shouldn't be there, but oh well. He lives with Miss Rachel? He's down visiting Scout and Jem? His parents disowned him? Perhaps all three?

**Disclaimer:** All these intriguing and wonderfully canonically written characters belong to the amazing Harper Lee. And now to the story, because no one is actually reading this.

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"Charles Baker Harris!" She said, her fists still bunching around the green dress she wore, hitching it up to march at me threateningly (which wasn't too threatening considering the large amount of water she also wore all down her front).

She stopped just short of knocking me over, nearly smashing my nose in with hers; in heels this wasn't a problem for her, rather for me.

Now, you must understand, it _had_ been a long night, we were both near our wits end, but I really couldn't keep myself from laughing.

Despite my snickering, she continued to glare at me. Not so much as a glare, but an 'I-swear-I'll-murder-you-in-your-sleep-Dill-Harris' glare.

"What in Sam hill were you thinkin' back there? How could you possibly be so rude? And then stand here and laugh at me like that? The nerve you must have to treat anyone that way. Especially after what just happened! You're still laughing! Are you even listening to me, Dill?"

By now, I'd lost myself. Gone. No, I was indeed not listening, I was having a whole lot of trouble keeping a straight face, and men naturally cannot double-task. This just frustrated her even more. When I was certain she would detonate, and leave Maycomb a charred speck in Alabama, I covered up with an apologetic cough.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I said (still dignified), "'M sorry Scout."

She looked back at me with a softer, but still furious look and dropped her dress, shoving her auburn bangs to the side. I silently noted the bits of cracker and other undeterminable things in her hair. She just didn't understand. I then elaborated for her. "But, you must admit, it _was_ really funny!"

What is it with girls and glaring? Is it really that satisfying?

"I really _don't_ think that tripping over my date's foot, flying over Judge Taylor's table, and into his wife's plate of food is really all that funny."

"Oh, come on Scout! It was just bad luck!" I said a smile breaking through.

She mumbled something about 'bad luck my ass', when I noticed (whether out of rage or the temperature) that she was violently beginning to shake.

"Scout? Scout, you're shivering." She'd crossed her arms to keep warm.

"I am not."

"You are too. Why, you must be freezing to death!"

As I didn't need it all that much, I began to shrug out of my coat. I gave her a sympathetic look and offered it to her.

"I won't be takin' that, if that's why you're shoving it at me." She looked over at the old Radley's place, pouting.

"Well, why else would I be 'shoving it at you'?" I draped it around her quivering form.

"I'm still mad at you. I hope you know that."

"Yep." I determined definitely. I kept my pace a few steps in front of her as we walked down the moonlit sidewalk, my hands slid down in my pockets, looking at the sky. A few moments passed when,

"Dill? I-"

"Hmm?" I turned around to see what she wanted, and well, Scout in heels and a cracked sidewalk just don't mix well. Heck, Scout and heels don't even mix well. But nonetheless she started to fall. Not wanting there to be a big fuss, I jumped forward. Her hands went to my upper arms for support and my own went to her sides, just above waist. Everything was in slow motion from then. Seconds passed before patches of scarlet appeared on her cheeks.

In all that time we stood there, I couldn't help but wonder how she got so danged pretty. Seeing her up this close, I could see all the little freckles she'd earned from running around with us boys all the time when she was younger. I could see the tiny flecks of gold that rimmed and glittered in her eyes. And she had the most adorable little chin you've ever seen.

"Did I tell you how nice you looked tonight Scout?" I said slowly, in a trance-like state.

"Oh, you know how much I hate wearing dresses…" she said equally as slow, her eyelids getting heavy.

The last thing I saw was the flitter of her eyelashes and then it was like she was taking me to the moon and back. I don't even remember who went at who first, but it didn't matter. For as cold as she was, her lips certainly weren't. I felt her silk-covered hand slide up my neck to get up into my hair, sending shivers down my spine. From somewhere I heard my coat fall to the ground, but that didn't matter either.

When we broke apart, she smiled sweetly at me. She'd gotten on back on balance and my hands had gotten themselves to her tiny waist. I scooped up the jacket on the ground and put it back in its place.

I then took that opportunity to take her arm and be a regular gentleman the rest of the walk home.

"Are you ever gonna tell me, Dill?"

"Tell you what?"

"How you've kept your hair so blonde all these years? It's almost the same color it was when you first moved here!" she looked at me mischievously, patting my hair down where she'd ruffed it up.

"Well I'm still not tellin'." I grinned back.


End file.
